Why don’t we question utensils? Like who decided that spoons forks and knives would be the universal silverware for all eternity
Actually, Knives have obviously been around forever, but Forks and spoons started showing up in roman times, as it was customary for wealthy guests to bring their own fine eating utensils to meals. However, after the fall of the Roman empire and the commencement of the dark ages, the fork and knife were lost once again. For a very long time most of the civilized world went on eating with their hands, up until the mid to late 1600s when the fork and spoon were invented separately, again, the inventor or inventors not even knowing of the existence of the ancient roman fork and spoon. Once archeologists discovered the ancient roman fork and spoon sets they actually solved the exact question you’re asking: Because they work the best yo. Plus look at forks. Forks are fucking cool looking. Like these crazy little trident thingies. Forks man.
Chance, this kind of meeting. A dot of enmity, a flicker of desperation before, and now…well now, fuck it I guess. I’m falling away again and through this haze of barbiturates and stimulants there’s something out there, and that’s pretty beautiful. I didn’t think this could happen and now it is and that’s perplexing to me, I guess. Minutes feel like hours and I can only imagine what hours, what daytime shall bring. I haven’t even felt your hands darling, but I know they’ll fit perfectly in mine, just like the rain does when I catch it out the car window, and I can’t see because you’re splashing in currents onto the lenses of my glasses from the puddles on the concrete. I can’t see a thing but I can see every damn thing. Four hours and this? I can’t imagine days going by quicker.
I’m assuming that in the case of an actual zombie apocalypse there would be reports trickling in slowly and eventually it would peak and everything would come crashing into zombie death-mode. But for the sake of this plan, I’m skipping the preparation when given time to get ready.
So I wake up, and discover, low and behold, the zombie apocalypse has begun.
Grab baseball bat and scimitar (which my friend gave me, very generously).
Get dressed quietly. Jeans (not skinny. Slim. Gives room to move while still not being baggy enough to be a running/zombies grabbing me hazard). Knee high gym socks for extra protection/storage space for knives. Old Adidas (good for running). Simple t-shirt. Flannel shirt over that. Army jacket over that.
Pack backpack. Zippo with fuel and spare flints and wicks. Matches. Plastic lighters. Cigarettes (don’t judge me). Three t-shirts. Three pairs of jeans. Two pairs of shorts. Long underwear. Six pairs of boxers. Six pairs of socks. Combat boots. Hunting knife. Sleeping bag. (not done packing bag yet, but have to go downstairs to get the rest of the stuff.)
Open door to my room. Walk to my parents room. See if they’re zombies. If they are, kill them with the baseball bat. If not, leave quietly. They’d only slow me down.
Go downstairs and finish packing bag. Flashlight, tons of all different kinds of batteries. Military rations. Gatorade. Coffee. Portable stove and coffee maker. All the knives. Crowbar. Rope.
Put my cats in the cat carrier. Bring them outside to my mom’s car. Drive car down the street, go to my neighbor’s house. Go inside. If him and his family are alive, tell them I’m taking his giant plow truck. If they try to fight me off, kill them with scimitar or knife. If they’re zombies, obviously I kill them.
Take plow truck, with all of the stuff I brought from my house.
Drive into town. First stop…
Gun store. Take everything. Kill anyone there, zombie or not.
Take single handgun and load it preemptively.
Drive to the falls and check on Eric and Jad. If they are alive, load them into the truck with me. If they’re zombies, I kill them. I assume they’ll be alive though.
Drive to convenience store. Take all the cigarettes and all of the water.
Drive to supermarket. Kill any zombies and looters inside. Take all canned goods we can carry as well as fruit and vegetables. Plus jugs of water.
Drive about twenty minutes into the next town over to the camping supply store/mall area. This place will be crawling with zombies. Shoot everything that moves. First go to Marshall’s and take extra clothes, just necessities. Boots, etc.
Go to camping store. Get tents, sleeping bags, hiking boots, climbing equipment, survival gear and a canoe. Load them all into the dump truck part of the truck. (Forgot to mention that the plow truck is a dump truck style one).
Drive to Home Depot. Get building supplies and as many portable generators that we can fit into the back of the truck. Also get empty gas cans.
Drive to Gas station. Kill everything. Fill ALL gas cans with gas plus refill the plow truck.
Drive to Dick’s Sporting Goods. Kill everything. Take fishing supplies and all weaponry, plus hunting gear.
Drive to the most middle of nowhere place we can find. No civilization anywhere, high-ground, with plenty of visibility for us. Preferably some sort of unsettled mountain area.
what if cats are actually super happy all the time and they don’t show it because that’s just how cat emotions work. Like a cat could just be laying around, or being all mopey and inside it’s just like “wow this day is literally the best day ever. I’m so happy to be alive!”
and what if dogs are actually super philosophical/sad/suicidal/mentally unstable and in dog emotion they show it by being super outgoing and happy. So a dog could be running around playing and stuff and inside it’s like “this ball I fetch reminds of my happiness for it is controlled by outside forces, and it is forever out of my grasp”
Am I the only person that is super comforted by the fact that we are all so very small in this massive universe? That we’re just little tiny blips in time. That our life spans are so short they don’t even have any impact on a universal, galactic or planetary scale? That we’re all just made from the ashes of other stuff and that eventually we’ll be ashes that’s getting made into other stuff?
Idk, I get really happy when I think about life that way. Philosophers have spent thousands of years trying to figure out why we’re here but the answer is just so simple and super duper ironic. We’re here to a) exist, b) experience our planet and c) to think about why we’re here.
It’s not worth it doing anything else. Just a waste of time.
Okay so I’m reposting this (with original poster’s post obviously) just as a refreshed post without all the notes. Please people. Please read this, okay? Because we really are all the same and I’m sick and tired of all of this battle of the sexes crap all the time. Just read this. Feel free to talk to me about it.
your hormones don’t make you feel like a different person every week
no childbirth
penises are fun
shirts always fit over your chest
you can walk around topless in summer without being arrested for it
you store less fat
advantages of being a girl:
can use your bra as an extra pocket
okay so here we go again with more of this guys have it easier than girls stuff.
look,
men have hormonal periods as well. We have mood swings. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to have spontaneous outbursts of anger brought on by excessive testosterone? It sucks. I’ve broken all of my fingers on my right hand and cracked my own skull from punching and headbutting shit when I was angry.
unless dudes are either really nicely built/have a waxed chest/are really comfortable with their bodies, they generally don’t just wander around places with no shirt on. Guys that do are called douchebags.
men are actually more susceptible to morbid obesity. Women, while yes they store more fat, does not make them fat…fat is well…fat dude! Like big! Like really really big! Idk, I’m not wording this part correctly but long story short, that’s a stupid reason for guys to have it better off.
Also, on that note, there are A LOT of guys who prefer their women curvy or chubbier. ‘aint no problem with that. The whole stigma of women needing to look a certain way for men to like them is all media, advertising, etc etc etc. In the 40’s 50’s and 60’s there were actually products that were designed to make skinny women (now what we would consider average) look curvier.
It’s hard as all hell for lanky guys to buy clothes, especially if they prefer form fitting outfits. I had to get my suits tailored so they would fit me correctly because my waist size is super disproportionate to my inseam (leg length). Plus I have insanely broad/muscular shoulders and chest but I’m not very built on my arms so my jacket and dress shirt measurements make it very hard to find off the rack suits and stuff. As far as every day clothes go I know a lot of pretty poor kids who would fucking love to wear like skinny jeans or just form fitting stuff in general and they’re resigned to k-mart and wal-mart baggy jeans and crap t-shirts because they can’t find affordable clothes that fit their body type.
and on the other end of the spectrum, I know a lot of chubby guys who wish they could wear skinny jeans and would be comfortable with their bodies while wearing said skinny jeans but they have to wear baggy stuff because companies don’t make their sizes because they just assume that fatter guys are going to be self conscious and want to wear baggy stuff to cover up their body.
on that note, men are given just as much of an unreasonable goal for what we’re supposed to look like. Rugged. Ripped. Tanned. Shaved. Perfect six pack.
and have you ever watched porn? When was the last time you saw someone with an average sized cock in a porno? I am friends with guys who are so nervous that six inches (above average) won’t be enough for certain girls that they just don’t even bother. That’s fucked man. That ain’t right.
And you’re right, no childbirth. But we do have to deal with yearly prostate exams once we hit the age of about 25. That means the doctor sticks his fingers into your butt and rummages around in there a bit. Granted, if you’re into that, good for you.
Also, after a women has a child, the father often experiences extreme detachment from the child, which leads to long term detachment as the child grows up, due to the mother spending a disproportionate amount of time with said child. (Granted there are obviously exceptions to this etc etc etc, but it’s built in to our genetic structure. We did not evolve to be monogamous creatures. The male in most cases moved on and continued having children with other females. However, population growth became a moot point as we grew in culture, and hence monogamy.)
Also we have to deal with erectile dysfunction (every guy will eventually, sadly). Which I’d imagine is a terribly emasculating experience.
Also also, we can sit on our balls.
I’ll repeat that.
Sometimes we can ACCIDENTALLY CRUSH OUR OWN NUTS BENEATH OUR BODYWEIGHT
trust me it fucking hurts.
Also, women have never experienced the exceptional annoyance that is nut-chafing.
CHAFING IS HORRIBLE
On a more philosophical level, men are just as insecure as women. What I don’t think that people get is that men and women are just two different sexes of THE SAME SPECIES. WE ARE NOT TWO DIFFERENT FUCKING SPECIES. We all have the same insecurities and anxieties and that’s what makes us fucking human. So when girls say that guys are douchebags, or when they say that guys are always at fault for a breakup or that the guy is ALWAYS the abusive one, or that guys are only interested in sex, or that guys shouldn’t cry, THAT FUCKING HURTS. I’m a human fucking being. I’m not some goddamn jock in an 80s movie. Guys aren’t supposed to all be these hollywood and advertising hero caricatures. We are all different shapes and sizes (just like women) and we all have different fucking personalities. Girls, just because one dude fucked you over doesn’t mean you have to be a dick to ALL men because of it. And same goes to guys by the way, just because one girl broke your heart doesn’t mean you have to go and be the stereotypical asshole that your ex is probably saying you are.
It’s not always the guy’s fault. And I wish people would realize that. Because it seems that no matter if the guy broke up with the girl or the girl broke up with the guy, the blame will almost always fall on the guy. And a lot of the time, us guys will take that fucking blame to heart and carry that with us for a very long time.
That being said, it’s not always the girls fault either. I’ve been a total asshole before. I’ll be the first to admit it. And I feel horrible about it.
But I was doing what I assumed women want out of a guy. What everything seems to say women want out of guys…
and that’s so fucked up! Because every guy wants something different in a girl and every girl wants something different in a guy and every gay guy wants something different in their respective dudes, and every gay girl wants something different in their respective chicas, ya dig?
Long story short, WE ARE ALL OF THE SAME SPECIES. WE ARE NOT DIFFERENT SUBSETS. Male and female. Two fucking sexes. I don’t care if you’re gay or straight or trans or bi or you only want to have sex with fresh corpses (though that’s fucked if you do, bro) we all have the same set of primal, evolutionary traits MOLDED INTO OUR FUCKING BRAIN CHEMISTRY. We are all the fucking same. So guys, don’t think that you have to work out to the point where you want to die just to have that perfect six pack like the airbrushed dudes in GQ magazine. Don’t think that you have to be a giant prick in order to find a girl. Don’t think that you have to look like a fucking Ken Doll. Chest hair is fucking badass as hell, (Hugh Jackman. That is all I have to say.) plus shaving it all off is a pain in the ass, and waxing is just like someone pouring lava on your body. And girls, don’t think that you have to wear makeup all the time, and work really hard on your outfits in the morning, and only eat salad when you go out to dinner, and don’t think that you have to do some crazy work out regimen, and please, for the love of fucking god, don’t think that you have to be fucking ORANGE TAN or go to a tanning salon and get skin cancer to make us think you’re sexy. You’re sexy already, trust me/us. Girls: (straight/bi) guys worship the ground you walk on. I don’t think that some of you truly understand that.
So in conclusion, to both guys and the fairer sex, please stop doing all this crazy shit in order to find the right guy/girl/corpse. Because if there is one thing the internet has taught me, it is that there are people out there who are into EVERYTHING. Nothing is taboo anymore! So stop worrying. No matter who you are, what you look like, what your body type is, what your orientation is, what your ethnicity is, how dark or how pale your skin is, how big or small your tits are, how big or small your dick is…there is someone out there that is going to want to a) have your babies, b) marry you, c) love you, d) put his penis inside you, e) have your penis inside her, or f) all of the above.
So let’s stop with the whole argument about which sex has it worse ok? Life sucks for everyone, and then we all die. Let’s make the most of it and stop being annoying.
your hormones don’t make you feel like a different person every week
no childbirth
penises are fun
shirts always fit over your chest
you can walk around topless in summer without being arrested for it
you store less fat
advantages of being a girl:
can use your bra as an extra pocket
okay so here we go again with more of this guys have it easier than girls stuff.
look,
men have hormonal periods as well. We have mood swings. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to have spontaneous outbursts of anger brought on by excessive testosterone? It sucks. I’ve broken all of my fingers on my right hand and cracked my own skull from punching and headbutting shit when I was angry.
unless dudes are either really nicely built/have a waxed chest/are really comfortable with their bodies, they generally don’t just wander around places with no shirt on. Guys that do are called douchebags.
men are actually more susceptible to morbid obesity. Women, while yes they store more fat, does not make them fat…fat is well…fat dude! Like big! Like really really big! Idk, I’m not wording this part correctly but long story short, that’s a stupid reason for guys to have it better off.
Also, on that note, there are A LOT of guys who prefer their women curvy or chubbier. ‘aint no problem with that. The whole stigma of women needing to look a certain way for men to like them is all media, advertising, etc etc etc. In the 40’s 50’s and 60’s there were actually products that were designed to make skinny women (now what we would consider average) look curvier.
It’s hard as all hell for lanky guys to buy clothes, especially if they prefer form fitting outfits. I had to get my suits tailored so they would fit me correctly because my waist size is super disproportionate to my inseam (leg length). Plus I have insanely broad/muscular shoulders and chest but I’m not very built on my arms so my jacket and dress shirt measurements make it very hard to find off the rack suits and stuff. As far as every day clothes go I know a lot of pretty poor kids who would fucking love to wear like skinny jeans or just form fitting stuff in general and they’re resigned to k-mart and wal-mart baggy jeans and crap t-shirts because they can’t find affordable clothes that fit their body type.
and on the other end of the spectrum, I know a lot of chubby guys who wish they could wear skinny jeans and would be comfortable with their bodies while wearing said skinny jeans but they have to wear baggy stuff because companies don’t make their sizes because they just assume that fatter guys are going to be self conscious and want to wear baggy stuff to cover up their body.
on that note, men are given just as much of an unreasonable goal for what we’re supposed to look like. Rugged. Ripped. Tanned. Shaved. Perfect six pack.
and have you ever watched porn? When was the last time you saw someone with an average sized cock in a porno? I am friends with guys who are so nervous that six inches (above average) won’t be enough for certain girls that they just don’t even bother. That’s fucked man. That ain’t right.
And you’re right, no childbirth. But we do have to deal with yearly prostate exams once we hit the age of about 25. That means the doctor sticks his fingers into your butt and rummages around in there a bit. Granted, if you’re into that, good for you.
Also, after a women has a child, the father often experiences extreme detachment from the child, which leads to long term detachment as the child grows up, due to the mother spending a disproportionate amount of time with said child. (Granted there are obviously exceptions to this etc etc etc, but it’s built in to our genetic structure. We did not evolve to be monogamous creatures. The male in most cases moved on and continued having children with other females. However, population growth became a moot point as we grew in culture, and hence monogamy.)
Also we have to deal with erectile dysfunction (every guy will eventually, sadly). Which I’d imagine is a terribly emasculating experience.
Also also, we can sit on our balls.
I’ll repeat that.
Sometimes we can ACCIDENTALLY CRUSH OUR OWN NUTS BENEATH OUR BODYWEIGHT
trust me it fucking hurts.
Also, women have never experienced the exceptional annoyance that is nut-chafing.
CHAFING IS HORRIBLE
On a more philosophical level, men are just as insecure as women. What I don’t think that people get is that men and women are just two different sexes of THE SAME SPECIES. WE ARE NOT TWO DIFFERENT FUCKING SPECIES. We all have the same insecurities and anxieties and that’s what makes us fucking human. So when girls say that guys are douchebags, or when they say that guys are always at fault for a breakup or that the guy is ALWAYS the abusive one, or that guys are only interested in sex, or that guys shouldn’t cry, THAT FUCKING HURTS. I’m a human fucking being. I’m not some goddamn jock in an 80s movie. Guys aren’t supposed to all be these hollywood and advertising hero caricatures. We are all different shapes and sizes (just like women) and we all have different fucking personalities. Girls, just because one dude fucked you over doesn’t mean you have to be a dick to ALL men because of it. And same goes to guys by the way, just because one girl broke your heart doesn’t mean you have to go and be the stereotypical asshole that your ex is probably saying you are.
It’s not always the guy’s fault. And I wish people would realize that. Because it seems that no matter if the guy broke up with the girl or the girl broke up with the guy, the blame will almost always fall on the guy. And a lot of the time, us guys will take that fucking blame to heart and carry that with us for a very long time.
That being said, it’s not always the girls fault either. I’ve been a total asshole before. I’ll be the first to admit it. And I feel horrible about it.
But I was doing what I assumed women want out of a guy. What everything seems to say women want out of guys…
and that’s so fucked up! Because every guy wants something different in a girl and every girl wants something different in a guy and every gay guy wants something different in their respective dudes, and every gay girl wants something different in their respective chicas, ya dig?
Long story short, WE ARE ALL OF THE SAME SPECIES. WE ARE NOT DIFFERENT SUBSETS. Male and female. Two fucking sexes. I don’t care if you’re gay or straight or trans or bi or you only want to have sex with fresh corpses (though that’s fucked if you do, bro) we all have the same set of primal, evolutionary traits MOLDED INTO OUR FUCKING BRAIN CHEMISTRY. We are all the fucking same. So guys, don’t think that you have to work out to the point where you want to die just to have that perfect six pack like the airbrushed dudes in GQ magazine. Don’t think that you have to be a giant prick in order to find a girl. Don’t think that you have to look like a fucking Ken Doll. Chest hair is fucking badass as hell, (Hugh Jackman. That is all I have to say.) plus shaving it all off is a pain in the ass, and waxing is just like someone pouring lava on your body. And girls, don’t think that you have to wear makeup all the time, and work really hard on your outfits in the morning, and only eat salad when you go out to dinner, and don’t think that you have to do some crazy work out regimen, and please, for the love of fucking god, don’t think that you have to be fucking ORANGE TAN or go to a tanning salon and get skin cancer to make us think you’re sexy. You’re sexy already, trust me/us. Girls: (straight/bi) guys worship the ground you walk on. I don’t think that some of you truly understand that.
So in conclusion, to both guys and the fairer sex, please stop doing all this crazy shit in order to find the right guy/girl/corpse. Because if there is one thing the internet has taught me, it is that there are people out there who are into EVERYTHING. Nothing is taboo anymore! So stop worrying. No matter who you are, what you look like, what your body type is, what your orientation is, what your ethnicity is, how dark or how pale your skin is, how big or small your tits are, how big or small your dick is…there is someone out there that is going to want to a) have your babies, b) marry you, c) love you, d) put his penis inside you, e) have your penis inside her, or f) all of the above.
So let’s stop with the whole argument about which sex has it worse ok? Life sucks for everyone, and then we all die. Let’s make the most of it and stop being annoying.
what if instead of countries declaring war on each other there was just a big rap battle
USA vs. North Korea
Obama: “Yo bitch take a seat, Biden lay down a beat imma bout to fuck you up like Muhammad Ali float like Obamafly sting like a bee I’m commander in chief, best not be messin’ with me I got a hundred thousand nukes, and you got nothing, you see because if you did South Korea would be choking on its kimchee so I think we know who wins this phallus measuring contest cuz all the NK sluts ask “Kim Jong, is it in yet?” “Supreme Leader”…as you choose to be named this is overcompensation to live up to daddy’s crazy name This nigga give props to the late Kim Jong, But why won’t you give up the ghost, kid? Your daddy’s gone… and now it’s my pleasure to introduce, CHUCK DADDY, SEC OF DEF NIGGAAAAA TO FINISH. YOU. OFF. LAY IT ON HIM CHUCKY.”
Chuck Hagel (Secretary of Defense): “Thanks Mr. Prez, I got this covered from here go take the day off, maybe have a few beers I’ll have these NK bitches on their knees… begging for surrender like the vietnamese Yeah Mr. Un is right you leave me un-in-fucking-pressed You might be young but this old man would crush you: no contest. I’m an american bred badass you’re practically a BRONY People even hate you more than they hate Joseph fucking Kony So go play with your toys, your ancient soviet nukes Chuck Hagel got some bombs to blow up all you damn gooks oh shit that’s not PC! I’m sorry. I am. but sometimes I have flashbacks bout my time in vietnam See the truth is Kim Jong, I liked those other bastards more they were fighting for a cause, you’re just warring cuz you’re bored I usually have respect for the men with whom I fight but you’re still a fucking child, and not very bright you just declared war on the world’s biggest superpower the dictator rapist, the fucking fascist defiler if we could take Hitler and Stalin and Castro and Nixon I promise we’ll fuck you up beyond recognition I’ll let the first lady take this rhyme from here step on up Michelle, let’s give ‘em the fear…”
Michelle Obama (SCREAMING):
“YOU THINK YOU MOTHERFUCKING HARD WE FUCKING HARDER THAN THAT WE GUNNA BOMB YOU LITTLE BITCHES T-MINUS TEN SECONDS FLAT WE GUNNA MAKE YOU A STAIN, A NORTH KOREAN SHAPED SMUDGE LOOK OUT KIM JONG UN, THE FIRST LADY WANTS BLOOD”
my friend just told me that metal music is called that
because
metal
is
heavier
than
rock
Omg this literally just changed my life.
actually it’s called metal music because of a bunch of varying factors, none of which have to do with metal being heavier than rock. Plus most rocks are comprised of a bunch of different metals and minerals etc. The term “heavy metal” was first used by William Burroughs in the 1962 novel “Soft Machine” in which heavy metal was the nickname of one of the characters. It was used to describe addictive drugs and the like. Heavy back then meant profound as well. The first song to ever use the term heavy metal was Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf. Iron Butterfly’s first album was titled “Heavy” and their name implied metallic symbolism in conjunction with that. Furthermore, Birmingham, England was a huge center for industry, as well as the centerpiece of the roots of metal music (Black Sabbath, The Move, Led Zeppelin) and the riffs that were popular with those bands were soon called metalworks riffs, or metal midlands riffs, etc. Finally, the first time that a band was called “heavy metal” or the term was applied to music was in a 1971 issue of “Creem” magazine in a review for an obscure artist named Sir Lord Baltimore. The reviewer said something to the effect of “His music has down pat all of the heavy metal tricks in the book…even though it hasn’t been written yet.”
So in conclusion, your friend is stupid.
This could also be a joke though, in which case your friend is hilarious.
THERE IS A POLAR BEAR QUICKLY AMBLING TOWARDS ME OH MY HEART
It’s a living teddy bear.. Holy fuck! My heart just exploded from cuteness overdose.
Just wait until it grows up and you go out of your house for just a few minutes and you come back and find the torn open carcasses of your mother and father splattered all over your living room. And you hear a great roar, not the roar of a friend, not a playful mew from a cub, but the bloodcurdling roar of a full grown polar bear. And you turn around and instead of seeing this cute little guy running towards you, you see a massive 900 pound polar bear, teeth bared, white fur stained red with the blood and internal organs of your family members. The last thing you see is a flash of white, a splash of red, and then darkness. But as you slip into the sweet release of death, you feel your previously adorable polar bear cub, tearing out your intestines with one massive paw. You feel his teeth crunching through your rib cage. And finally you’re gone, released from the horror that you unleashed upon yourself and your own family.
She stepped into the room, angrily, even aggressively and he was taken aback by her presence, the way she held herself, the way the room went silent when she moved. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders, skimming a black blouse. Her hips swayed with every step she took. She was feminine charm and male aggression wrapped into one. Her heels clicked against the polished floor and left tiny scuff marks in her path, a wake of worn off wax. When she spoke to him she did it quietly, with no fan fare. Her red lips parted and she exhaled, “dance with me.” At that point, he had no choice anymore.
She stood outside, breath fogging in front of her pale blue eyes. He stood to her left, right near the door frame, smoking the other half of a cigarette that he had saved for later. At some point during the silence she turned to him and asked him, “what if it were never cold?” He just smiled at her and silently puffed away. She sighed and turned back to the street. She had worn a skirt for some reason and there were goosebumps on her legs, and she held her small hands together against her—as he often called it, though she didn’t think so—beautiful body. Her blue eyes reflected every snowflake that fell too close. And they melted right there, before they hit the ground.
When she was visiting in the hospital he was in a gown and had tubes coming out of his goddamn arms while she got to wear dresses and jeans and it wasn’t fair. He would’ve given anything to just wear normal clothes again. But at the same time it was a blessing because he could watch her when she went to go get coffee, or at night when she got up to get a blanket. He liked hearing her laugh down the hall while she joked with the nurses and he loved seeing her long dark hair trail behind her when she walked places. And by god, she walked with purpose. No matter where she was going, he could tell that wherever it was, that was exactly the place she meant to be. But never did those purposeful, long strides cross the hallway from the next room over. Never did they walk through his door. Never did they sit down by his bedside. They stayed next door, with the old woman who was dying. And he constantly wished he could call her name, tell her to come visit him, to come read to him. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move at all.
She passed by and was like a breeze, her hair falling in waves, her eyes piercing his as he bumped her slightly and she spilled her coffee (but only a bit). She sneered at him, and yet it was still endearing, and so he smiled at her. She looked back at him, puzzled at his kindness, and then turned and carried on to wherever it was she was going in such a hurry. He contemplated chasing after her, giving her his number, something, anything. But her combat boots had already disappeared into the throng of suits and dresses, along with her jeans, and the black t-shirt he had tried hard not to look down when she bent to pick up her purse. He sighed and thought to himself hopefully, “six degrees. I’ll see her again I’m sure.” But he knew he was just lying to himself.
but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date… They remember every story you’ve ever told them - like ever, but forget what you’ve just said. They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash, but they don’t forget how to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful because they’re busy remembering the important things.
Perfectly sums me up. Except it wasn’t enough for her was it. I might have fucked up but I never stopped loving her. That part of it is on her. Because we fought too much. Because I had trouble getting a job. Because I didn’t have my license. So even though I gave her everything I could. Even though I dedicated my entire fucking album to her. She still up and left. Because when you’re a writer, being a writer is never enough. For anyone.
I’m about to ruin this shit, but actually kissing comes originally from when mothers would chew up their food and press it into their baby’s mouth by essentially kissing them. After the babies teeth developed enough to chew their own food, mothers would use a “kiss” to sooth the kid. Obviously kissing has evolved since then, and now most people kiss (in the romantic sense) in order to actually taste a prospective mate. If their pheromones smell and taste “good” to you than genetically you are predisposed to be attracted to that person. This is the same reason people hug or hold hands or cuddle. As with all human behavior all these things originally served as an evolutionary advantage, but now that we’re the most advanced species on the planet those evolutionary instincts go into remission, so we use the actions for other purposes, namely to figure out who we most want to rub our genitals against.
You know what really pisses me off? When people think that Islam is a religion based around violence. And when people think that all people of the muslim faith, hell all people who speak and write arabic or are of middle-eastern decent are goddamn horrible, violent, misogynistic terrorists. This right here, this is beautiful. And I don’t know if it’s from the Quran or if it’s just a proverb but seriously, I’ve been seeing a lot of quotes from the Quran lately and every single one of them applies to my life in some way. I think I’m going to read it. Just because I’m atheist doesn’t mean I can’t take something out of someone else’s holy book. And fuck you if you think that it’s wrong I read it. It seems really beautiful. Islam is beautiful. Every religion has it’s extremists.
I love the Ernest Hemingway quote, “Write Drunk, Edit Sober” in theory.
But in practice things just go to shit pretty quickly. here’s what happened last time:
So the farmer lived in a peaceful meadow with only his beautiful, silent wife, save for his two goats who conversed with him daily, as they were sentient goats, all knowing in fact, to the point of omnipotent, omniscience. Indeed, the farmer’s goats were the new gods, and he lived in fear of their vast knowledge and power. Every two years the goats demanded a human sacrifice, and so the farmer would impregnate his wife, who would subsequently birth a child, born beneath a harvest moon, and with grotesque features, and two pointy goat horns protruding from his skull…and every two years the farmer would take this monstrosity to the goats, and in tears be forced to watch the goats devour his child right before his eyes. He could not turn away, for the goats wanted him to watch.
Praise the goats. Love the goats. Trust the goats.
Buy buy buy buy
Sacrifice is key
lalalalala
SO yeah. Great quote Ernest but holy shit, does not work for me, at all.
